


Be Exquisite

by templemarker



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 10:01:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5493152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/templemarker/pseuds/templemarker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Before you, you will see the chef has prepared a selection of amuse-bouche for the table. Hamachi sashimi with caviar pearls in black rice; deconstructed crab rangoon, with Jonah Crab over seasoned Crème fraîche with crispy wonton flakes; and pad thai: a single square of fried and braised tofu with one rice noodle curled and seasoned with our handmade fish sauce and a dash of tamarind. Chef Wurtzheimer encourages you to consider consuming from left to right. A light apéritif of ginger-infused Shirakawago sake will be served following this course. Enjoy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Exquisite

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays, r3zuri! I worked from [this prompt](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/5006.html?thread=9223310#cmt9223310) from the Daredevil Kink Meme. This is, I guess, an AR--alternate reality. Everything's the same, but Matt's first meeting with Vanessa Marianna and Wilson Fisk goes rather...differently.

"Before you, you will see the chef has prepared a selection of _amuse-bouche_ for the table. Hamachi sashimi with caviar pearls in black rice; deconstructed crab rangoon, with Jonah Crab over seasoned Crème fraîche with crispy wonton flakes; and pad thai: a single square of fried and braised tofu with one rice noodle curled and seasoned with our handmade fish sauce and a dash of tamarind. Chef Wurtzheimer encourages you to consider consuming from left to right. A light apéritif of ginger-infused Shirakawago sake will be served following this course. Enjoy."

Wilson Fisk's low rumble of a voice emerged from across the table. "Please do tell Hayato his work is beautiful. We look forward to experiencing his art."

A soft rush of air to the right suggested that a small bow had been made by the headwaiter and another indicated she had left. 

Matt felt very alone. 

"Mr. Murdock," came Mrs. Fisk's smoothly-accented voice to Matt's right, "do you require any assistance with the plating of your meal? I hesitate to be rude, but Wilson and I wish your meal with us to be most pleasant."

Matt resisted shifting in his chair--it was harder when he was Matt-the-lawyer instead of Matt-the-Devil, like there was some internal switch in his head that changed his behavioral responses automatically. And it was really hard not to be nervous at dinner. If he and the Fisks were going at it--fighting, not, uh, well, fighting--then he would be totally comfortable with the situation. 

That wasn't the situation. 

The invitation had come down through a personal visit from Wesley, who seemed to be some combination of majordomo, personal assistant, and Vice-President to Fisk. Wilson Fisk had wanted to "show his appreciation" for their "fine work" representing the neighborhood's "community members." Until that moment, they were all pretty sure that Fisk didn't even know Nelson and Murdock existed. 

Wesley, whose general sense of Oxford-and-Cambridge sleazeball only seemed to increase when he knew he had someone pinned, had insisted that Fisk had already made reservations for that Friday. Apparently Fisk would be "most disappointed" if the two of them didn't show up to do a little dancing monkey action in front of their erstwhile, occasionally overspendy employer. 

It had only been a couple of jobs. And they needed the money. Karen always cashed the checks before they did any work, though. They were simple jobs: intervene on a DBA dispute, insure legal review and proper notarization on work permitting. Nothing like that first job, and nothing they could really justify turning down. Especially once Foggy had asked in his passive-aggressive yet pointed yet roundabout way if they were getting into a situation where they were even _allowed_ to say no, and Wesley reassured them (telling the truth, Matt could gauge from his scent) that this wasn't an offer they couldn't refuse. 

Agreeing more or less semi-grudgingly to go, Wesley had politely suggested they wear ties. Foggy protested they _were_ wearing ties. Wesley seemed to make a series of facial and body movements that had always suggested disdain to Matt, and said "Are you really?" and left before Foggy's sputtering had stopped.

Foggy. 

The weirdest thing had happened that afternoon. Foggy's super called, and a pipe had burst in Foggy's bathroom. The bathroom, bedroom, and closet were covered in two inches of water before they'd managed to shut off the line, and Foggy had run out with a number of expletives and incipient panic. He'd called a couple of hours later to say he wasn't going to be able to make dinner. 

Matt had gone to Karen, but it was two minutes to five. She grabbed all her things, said something that sounded like "SorryMattIgottarunI'mwashingmyhairtonight," and practically sprinted out the door. It was the first time Matt had ever witnessed Karen leaving on-time since...well, since the practice had opened. Also her hair had been washed that morning and Matt didn't really think it would take a whole evening to clean it again. 

He'd tried to come up with a way to cancel that didn't sound like he was freaking out or badmouthing Fisk or faking food poisoning, but nothing plausible came up. It was different when he wasn't on a vendetta, or crusading into police lock-up. The nuns were very strict about manners. Not only did he flinch a little at the memory of the ruler; it kind of hurt his brain to think about being rude to someone who hadn't done him a personal insult. 

So Matt did the last button on his favorite comfortable cotton shirt (it was apparently blue), tightened up his tie (Foggy pre-knotted them all for him and they were hanging from a coat tree in his bedroom with tags marking the colour in braille), and grabbed a cab to Midtown. 

And now here he was. Wilson Fisk was a very large man. Matt could feel the force displacement of his body standing and sitting, offering a warmer-than-average hand that swallowed Matt's and shaking it with remarkably concealed strength. Mrs. Fisk's wrist smelled of lemons and lavender, not perfume but essential oils in some carrier. Matt was pretty sure it was coconut oil and kept his grip loose, dropping her hand when her chair was held out for her and she sat. 

The chair was also held out for him, which he caught, but Mrs. Fisk had carefully mentioned it to him, which was reasonably thoughtful. 

They sat, making a few pleasantries, but it was only moments before the headwaiter had arrived and things started to be put in front of him and long explanations of things he'd never heard of laid him silent and more nervous. If he could have gotten away with it, Matt would be texting Foggy so many freaked-out and slightly accusatory texts right now. 

And so, when Mrs. Fisk ("Call me Vanessa") asked him if he required assistance, he could completely excuse his behavior. He clutched the napkin in his lap, felt around for a fork, which appeared to be much tinier than forks should be, and said with only a little shakiness, "Uh, no ma'am. I mean, um, if you wanted to describe it? That would help. Some. But, uh, I can usually feel my way around a plate enough to make it into my mouth."

His smile, which felt tenuous on his face, did not seem to make up for the mess of words that had com out of his mouth. _Be gracious_ , said Sister Mary Catherine in his head. _Always allow your host to guide you through the meal should they choose to do so._ Well thanks for that, Sister. 

"Ma'am?" rumbled Fisk. His voice was surprisingly soft, as everything about him appeared to be. _Appeared_ being the key word--all of Matt's senses kicked back the image of a glacier: surface hiding great and secret depths. "My wife must be of an age with you, Murdock. No need for formalities at this table. Consider this dinner...with friends."

Matt was sure he laughed, or at least made some kind of sound in response. Vanessa's laugh tumbled out like a low bell, pleasant and only slightly affected. 

"Yes, Matt--may I call you Matt, or do you prefer Matthew?--Wilson has told me how effective you have been, handling business matters for him. We are delighted to show you our appreciation of your services. Do consider us friends, will you not?"

"Well, it's not me, it's me and my partner, Foggy Nelson? He was supposed to be here tonight, I'm sorry he couldn't make it, he had an emergency--"

"No matter," Fisk dismissed the news, and actually, now that Matt was thinking about it, the physical flow of the table suggested that there were only three chairs present rather than four. He hadn't noticed one of the servers taking a fourth chair away. Maybe he didn't notice because he was nervy. 

"We're very interested to learn more about you, Murdock. You have an intriguing...career."

The pause was. Well. The pause was unexpected. The pheromones were _definitely_ unexpected, as was the barely audible shift of Vanessa--no, Mrs. Fisk!--next to him and a fresh rush of arousal between her thighs. 

Matt really hated the supersenses sometimes. If he was just a normal awkward blind guy instead of a super-smelling, hyper-aware technically but kinda not really awkward blind guy, he wouldn't fall into these situations nearly as often. 

That was maybe not accurate. He wouldn't _figure out_ these situations as often and would awkward his way out of them. 

This was a date. Or a pre-date. Like a screen test date. They were looking for a third, definitely for sex and who knows whether for more (although Fisk's rich pheromones and steady gong of his heartbeat did tend to suggest he wasn't only thinking about sex). 

Matt wished this was the first time this had happened to him. It was really, really not the first time. 

He did not cover well for his realization. The tiny fork clanked against what was probably the plate and hit a glass, tipping his water right onto the floor. 

"Oh!" came Vanessa, and Matt caught the soft curse of the headwaiter. Three people, her and probably two busboys, came over swiftly and started dealing with Matt's mess. Matt clutched his napkin tighter in his fist and tried not to hear the entirely unaffected thump of Fisk's heartbeat. He could feel the man's regard on him. It was enough to make him shudder, though he could blame that on the spill. 

He apologised, they waved him off, and the headwaiter returned with a fresh glass. She asked, "Sir, would you prefer sparkling or still water? We have San Pellegrino, Perrier, and Sanfaustino; or, for still waters, we have Volvic, Veen, 10 Thousand BC, or Saratoga, which is distilled in upstate New York and is our local option."

It was really, really hard not to run headlong for the door. 

"Um. The--last one?" Matt tried. He wondered how much these water names cost and then decided he really, truly did not want to know.

"Excellent choice," said Fisk, approval in his voice. "Eating local is a personal priority of ours."

"We're pleased you think the same!" said Vanessa. She leaned closer, and Matt managed not to twitch as the heady scent of her wafted over him again. "May I?" she asked, her hand hovering over Matt's. 

"Uh--"

She took his hand, still clutching the tiny fork like a weapon, and carefully directed it to the plate. "The first is the sashimi. You will need to gently lift the flesh to your face. I use my fingers, grasping a bit of the rice and then the fish, consuming it in one bite."

And there was the counterpoint scent of Fisk's arousal, twining around his wife's like a cat between the legs. Matt willed himself not to shut his eyes. He really did not need this today. 

Vanessa directed his hand to the next item on the plate. "For this, you shall need your fork. You must dig the meat into the tines, bringing with it the crème fraîche. Use the knife to build it, and then you must bring it swiftly to your mouth before it falls." She licked her lip, and she was so close that Matt could taste her mouth in his own. Goddammit. He should be texting so much right now. 

"And _enfin_ , we have our interpretation of pad thai." She carefully drew the fork from Matt's hand, and with light but insistent fingers she directed him to a smooth ceramic handle. "You see, it is on the traditional serving spoon of the amuse-bouche. You must raise the whole spoon to your lips, and consume the food in one bite. It looks delicious. I would hate for you to lose any of the taste."

Oh for fuck's sake. Matt was so done right now. 

He smiled and ate as directed, demurring at every question and feeling the welcome tick of the minute hand on his watch. He was not smooth. He was not charming. And, not for the first time, he wished he wasn't as sexually attractive as he turned out to be. It was incredible the social cues people would break when you were blind and couldn't gauge when someone was going to touch you without your permission. 

And then, to Matt's joy and relief, his phone went off. 

He apologised, turned away, and answered it. 

"Hello?"

"Okay, Matt, this is not a service provided. I fix your bruises, not your social life," said Claire, who was actually laughing at him. 

"Oh, no, really?" Matt asked, surprise and sympathy in his voice. "That's a tough break. I guess we're going to have to reorganize around the secondary evidentiary material."

"Did you know that there are more single straight women than single straight men in New York City? I heard it on the news this morning. Who wants that kind of competition? And here you are, drink and dashing some poor woman. What kind of late-twenties bachelor are you?"

"Oh, I guess," Matt said, voice strained. "I hadn't thought about that. Do you think we should come in tonight to prepare? The hearing is tomorrow at noon."

"Here I am, working second shift and overtime with _bonus, unpaid overtime_ from your nightly visits. How am I even supposed to find a date in this town? Are you going to bring in some cute guy you rescued from a mugger for me to patch up? What are you doing for _me_ , Murdock?" She was definitely laughing at him now. 

"Okay, I completely understand. I'll be there shortly, I'm coming from uptown. Thanks. No, I'll bring it. Thanks, see you soon."

"You better at least get some before you leave, because boy, you need to get laid like it's your job. Work off some of that tension without bleeding." With that sage advice, she hung up on him. 

Matt turned back to the table. There was an air of disappointment from the Fisks, but no less arousal. He had felt their eyes on him the whole time he was using his get out of meeting free card. 

"I'm so sorry--" he started, and Vanessa took his hand again. He stilled. 

"Don't worry about it," said Fisk. Matt felt him lean forward. "We'll simply have Wesley schedule for another time. 

"We do so want to learn more about you, Matt," Vanessa said, and though the words weren't said with seduction, there was a definite sort of promise in them. 

"Right," Matt said, carefully (and politely) slipping his hand away and jamming it in his pocket. Oh thank god, he did have some gum with him. The mint would chase away all the...atmosphere. 

After a couple more pleasantries and with the anxious but carefully distant assistance of a server, Matt extricated himself from the restaurant and into the fresh, urine-laced air of Manhattan. 

His stomach rumbled, loudly, and he realized he'd never even gotten a bite.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Seriously, all these waters actually exist. San Pell and Perrier are pretty standard. [Sanfaustino](http://www.finewaters.com/Bottled_Water/Italy/Sanfaustino.asp) is a naturally effervescent mineral water bottled in Umbria, Italy. [Volvic](http://volvic-na.com/) is a still water bottled near the Puy de Dôme volcano in France. [Veen](http://www.veenwaters.com/) is spring water from the Konisaajo in Northern Finland. [10 Thousand BC](http://www.10thousandbc.com/) is melted glacier ice water from the Coastal Glacier Range in British Columbia, Canada. It has been apparently "Locked in an icy vault for over 10,000 years," hence the name. And for you New York State locavores, [Saratoga](http://www.saratogaspringwater.com/) is bottled from Saratoga Springs in upstate New York and is available sparkling or stilled. It comes in a particularly lovely blue bottle. 
> 
> 2\. "Be Exquisite" is the tagline of Saratoga Water.
> 
> 3\. The amuse-bouche is all my own creation. Gimme a couple hundred bucks and come out to Oregon and I'll make it for you. 
> 
> 4\. I think Matt must take cabs far more frequently than depicted in the show. I bet that he's patrolled well into the Garment District, realized he had an 8 AM meeting, and flagged down a cab in his blacks. "Where to?" said the driver. "West 49th and 9th, you can drop me by the bodega." "What are you, some kind of ninja? My kid wears that getup to judo." "..."


End file.
